


Upended

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Sex, Fingerfucking, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Doomfist/Zenyatta* written for Kinktober 2019, day 08 - rough sex





	Upended

**Author's Note:**

> mmmm i miss writing doomyatta

**Upended**

The hand pinning him down is heavy and rough, fingertips calloused, and does not bulge.

Zenyatta does not curse –he rarely does, if at all– but he hisses, synth making an aborted sound, as the back of his head hits the ground and his optical receptors blur for a moment, limbs sprawled on the concrete.

“You go down so quickly, when my hands are on you, monk.”

Akande sounds smug and amused, but the words are purred right by his auricular receptors as he leans down over him, eyes darkened and lips bruised, a line of blood trailing down to his chin where Zenyatta’s attack managed to land a hit.

He looks… glorious, and Zenyatta’s core stutters, even when he’s the one pinned down among the crumbled remains of a wall.

Above, just behind Akande’s head, Zenyatta sees the hole, and the grey sky above, the air humid with the promise of rain. Somewhere outside, just behind the crumbled wall and the empty street, the rest of his team is fighting with Talon goons.

And here, Zenyatta has caught the big fish –or rather, the big fish has caught _him_.

“You seem to be far too focused on me when the situation brings us in the same place, Akande.”

Zenyatta looks up, and does not make a move to free himself. He knows Akande will not let him move an inch, now that he has him trapped.

“What can I say,” Akande’s throat rumbles in a pleased hum, “no matter where we are, you are the only thing that interests me.”

“Did you not have a mission?”

“_You_ are my mission, monk.”

Zenyatta shivers despite himself, the intense focus of Akande’s eyes never breaking, never shifting away from his faceplate.

“I do have a mission, though,” he answers, and keeps his tone carefully neutral. “And your presence here does not allow me to complete it.”

“Of course I would not wish Overwatch to be successful, monk.” The grin Akande offers him is wide and dangerous, and the hand on his chest presses down just a little bit more, making his chassis creak under the pressure. “But I will content myself with having you at my mercy, and leave the rest of your team free to do as they please. Is this not kind of me?”

If he wanted to, Akande could break Zenyatta down with little strength. His Doomfist, the enormous contraption attached to his right arm, could unravel every inch of Zenyatta’s body until there was nothing of him left to be found. He could destroy him, and it would take only a fraction of his strength.

That is not what Akande wants.

Or, well. Akande does intend to wreck him… just not in a way that would _hurt_ him.

“Very kind. I do not think it would be sensible, Akande. You are a busy man, and my team is not far from here–”

The words are stolen from him as Akande’s hand moves up from his core to press around the soft carbon fiber of his throat, just beneath his pistons, and tightens a little.

“Do you truly wish me to leave, monk?”

“I did not say that. I simply said it is not sensible.” Zenyatta’s forehead array flickers in what is a smile, and Zenyatta knows Akande can read the amusement in his tone as well.

“You, not sensible? Now that is something rare, monk.” Akande leans down again, his face taking over Zenyatta’s vision.

“Perhaps it is the fact that you are nearby that strips me of my… inhibitions, Akande.”

Akande’s eyes narrow, and suddenly the smirk that was on his lips until then disappears, but he is not angry –he’s focused, intense, and the lust in his gaze is so strong Zenyatta almost falters, feels his core drop into his chest like a stone, and his circuits flutter with anticipation.

“Is that so?” Akande murmurs, and his other hand slides down Zenyatta’s body, slowly tracing a path down to his modesty plate, hidden under his ripped pants, and Zenyatta hums.

He lifts one hand and Akande doesn’t stop him, fingers coming to wipe the blood away from his lip and chin. “Blood looks good on you. Perhaps… I should have you look like this more often.”

Akande’s lips are on him only an instant later, smearing blood on his mouth piece, and Zenyatta gasps a little at the force behind it, then tilts his head up to him, omnic energy flaring to Akande’s lips as he kissed back.

The hand wrapped around his throat moves down, nails scraping the carbon fiber, then his pistons, seeking the sensors hiding on his neck and stroking them.

Zenyatta arches up, pleasure flaring through his circuits, and gasps when Akande’s fingers slip in the space between his chassis and the sensors underneath, pushing expertly and sending shudders down his back.

“It is unfortunate you do not bleed,” Akande mouths against his neck, teeth bared, “but I will content myself with making you _scream_.”

Fingers round his sensors one by one with accuracy, Akande knowing exactly where to touch to give Zenyatta pleasure, harsh touches that have him reel back into the ground, legs splayed apart to let Akande between them, rutting against him.

He has little time to think, Akande’s movements making it obvious how Zenyatta’s presence is making him lose control, and the hardness pushing against his modesty panel is even more obvious.

Akande is hard, and with every touch of his hands Zenyatta comes a little more undone, unravelling under his rough touches with no preparation.

The rush is unexpected, but Zenyatta revels in it –in the way his words helped Akande grow this desperate, this lustful, and his own desire raises to match, burning for this and more.

“Akande–”

“Not enough,” Akande grunts, and bites down around one of Zenyatta’s sensors at the base of his neck, making his synth crackle with static. “I want you to scream it, monk –while I take you right here, where we could be found.”

Omnic energy surges up inside Zenyatta as he seeks the crook of Akande’s neck and kisses it, burning his mark on Akande’s skin and making him shudder above him, hands stilling for a moment at the sensation.

He will not be outdone –Zenyatta wants what Akande is willing to give, but he wants to give just as much, and he did not lie before… Akande looks even more enticing, even more alluring, when he has had to fight a worthy opponent.

And Zenyatta is one. Probably the only one that matters… and the thought only serves to make him ache more for what Akande is ready to give him.

Zenyatta is still pinned on the ground, Akande heavy on top of him, but he arches up to meet his hip thrusts, modesty panel sliding away and leaving only a thin layer of pants between them.

It amuses him to watch Akande’s eyes open wide, his nostrils flaring, as he feels the metal surface disappear, and his cock finds something softer to ruts against.

“You tease me, monk,” Akande grunts.

Before he can move to hold Zenyatta’s wrists down, Zenyatta’s hand is already tugging at his shirt, ripping it away with one careless tug, the fabric coming undone, revealing to him Akande’s naked chest, muscles taut and strong.

He strokes all the skin he can, fingertips dancing with omnic energy, and Akande curses above him and thrusts down against him, the bulge of his cock pressing harder into the soft folds of his valve.

Yet, the pants are in the way, and Akande curses again when Zenyatta kisses his neck once more, making his shoulders jolt.

“It is only fair to give you a fight,” Zenyatta says, then arches his back when Akande’s hand leaves his sensors to slip between them, into his pants, ripping them off just like he’s done with Akande’s shirt.

The two fingers that dip inside him find nothing to stop them, Zenyatta’s valve so wet and swollen it welcomes them greedily, and it only takes him two pumps for Zenyatta to arch his back and moan, clenching onto them to keep them inside.

“Ah–”

There is no pause there, only Akande fucking into him, and Zenyatta latches both arms around his neck and tugs him down, mashing his mouthpiece into Akande’s lips, desperate for the contact when the fingers reach deeper into him, caressing and rubbing at his insides in ways that make him want to scream.

“Louder,” Akande growls, and this time he pushes a third finger in, spreading Zenyatta’s folds apart, opening him so wide Zenyatta’s synth breaks into loud chirps, the pleasure making his optical receptors blur. “I wish for anyone close by to hear you, monk.”

He kisses him then, mouth parted to suck at the edge of his mouthpiece, and Zenyatta kisses him back, desperately, burning as he drags his hands down his back, metallic fingers ripping the rest of his shirt apart, nailing him in his desire for more.

Zenyatta can feel Akande’s cock strain against his own pants, heavy and hard, pushing against the underneath of his valve, just below where his hand is, and he wants, he wants, he wants–

“You need… to do more, Akande,” he moans, voice shaky yet still challenging, forehead array burning, “you haven’t given me what I want, yet.”

Akande’s lips thin in a predatory smirk. “It is only fair.”

Zenyatta is the one whose hand slips between them, shaky as it is, to tug Akande’s pants open, no patience to have them gone, just enough for his cock to slip out, hard and thick and ready for him.

Akande doesn’t even remove his fingers, pushes into him while keeping him spread open, and Zenyatta chokes on air he doesn’t need, his valve pushed open further than before by Akande’s cock.

For a moment, Zenyatta cannot think, processes focused simply on the slow, even stretch, overwhelmed with every inch, but Akande doesn’t stop, doesn’t let him wait, strokes inner sensors already primed by his fingers until they overload with pleasure, fucks into him in one single slide as Zenyatta wraps his body around him, sucks him in with garbled little chirps, one hand around his back and one at his hip, urging him in.

“Haa–”

Zenyatta’s chassis is vibrating, legs parted so far they’re almost parallel with the ground, and he feels so full by the time Akande stops, fingers and cock buried inside him.

His sensors are buzzing, alight with pleasure, and for a moment he’s suspended on the edge, so close any moment will set him off–

And then Akande’s fingers slip out of him, a little pressure lessening, but there’s no time for Zenyatta to relax as one thumb presses mean, little caresses over his nub, as unrelenting with this as he was before, fucking his fingers into him.

“Akan–”

Akande moves, his cock almost slipping out of Zenyatta before he drives it back in so hard Zenyatta arches his back, gasp and scrambles for purchase, fingers digging into his back and hip, holding on as Akande fucks into him with brutal efficiency, hips snapping into him again and again, the slide of his cock inside his slick valve making his insides _burn_.

And then Zenyatta does scream –his synth hoarse and crackling with white noise, pleasure stealing his thoughts until he can only focus on the cock inside him, on the pleasure, and on Akande’s body on top of him.

He screams, and Akande continues to fuck him into the ground, hands holding his thin waist to aid himself, pushing him to meet every thrust, cursing and grunting himself as the warm, tight clutch of Zenyatta’s valve sucks him in every time and he asks for more.

Zenyatta doesn’t know how long he spends like this, upended on the edge of climax, driven mad by the cock inside him, stretching him so open it almost hurts how good it is, but no good thing can last long, and he feels his circuits and processes falter as he rushes to the edge and topples over with one last, hard thrust.

“Ah–!”

He comes hard, dripping wet around Akande’s cock, lubrication trickling from his still latched cock all over himself, twitching and arching up into Akande, clamping down so tightly around his cock that he curses and bures his face into Zenyatta’s neck, mouthing the metal, and climaxes as well, emptying himself inside Zenyatta’s valve, deep where no one else could ever be except him.

When Akande slips out, oversensitive and spent, Zenyatta barely has a second to miss how full he was that fingers replace that cock, and start to move again, the tempo still harsh.

He looks up into Akande’s face, and knows they’re not done yet.


End file.
